Too Many Cooks in the Kitchen
by maigonokaze
Summary: Prompt: Red and Gloria argue over who should run the kitchen, and things get personal. Femslash February 2016.


"This is my kitchen." Red wiped her glasses on a clean cloth and glared at Gloria.

"Not anymore," Gloria replied. She crossed her arms over her chest.

Caputo sighed. "You two figure it out. Work together," he said, throwing up his hands. "Just make sure there's food three times a day and I don't care who runs things." He turned and walked out.

Red leaned back against the stainless steel food-prep table. She planted her hands against the counter on either side of her, plainly staking her claim to the territory.

Gloria moved toward the office.

"That is _my_ office," Red snarled. She pushed off the counter and stepped to the side, blocking the doorway.

"Not anymore," Gloria retorted. "You'll have to learn to share."

"I don't share."

"Then step aside. Tell Caputo you can't work with me and I'm sure he'll find another position for you." She turned and moved to slip sideways past Red in the doorway.

"No." They faced off against each other in the door to the office. Gloria started to edge into the office and Red put out a hand to block her. She gripped the door jam and locked her elbow.

"Move your arm," Gloria ordered.

"No," Red repeated.

Gloria shoved her shoulder against Red's outstretched arm. Red didn't give way. "Don't touch me," Gloria barked. She gripped Red's wrist and pried her away from the doorframe.

Red's eyes shot daggers as Gloria's fingers tightened around her wrist. "Then don't go in my office," she hissed.

"So you touch anyone who goes into your office?" Gloria sneered. "Never counted you as one of those girls. Always slipping off in the library or to the chapel."

"Ha," Red laughed. "I'm too old for that shit. If I need something taken care of, I do it myself. Prison's not much different from marriage that way. And that's one of the advantages of a _private_ office. Besides," she looked pointedly at where Gloria's fingers still wrapped around her wrist, holding their hands up in between them. "It seems like I'm not the one who likes the touching."

Gloria dropped her hand and stepped away, into the narrow office. "I'm not like that," she snapped. "I take care of my own needs, same as you."

"Are you sure?" Red mocked. She followed Gloria into the office, cornering her against the small desk. "I mean, there is only so much your own hands can do."

Gloria refused to back down. She stood tall, her back straight and her chin raised, as Red stepped closer to her. She stared straight at Red, meeting the other woman's hard gaze with a matching sneer of her own.

"Your own fingers can't hold you at night. Can't be your lover's lips against yours. You sure you don't get one of your girls help you with that once in awhile?"

Gloria laughed, a short, crisp bark. She pushed off the desk. There was nowhere to go in the small room. She stood chest-to-chest with Red. "I don't need anything. From anyone."

"But you want it," Red challenged.

"No," Gloria said. "No, those girls are my responsibility. I take care of them. I wouldn't use them for that. Are you saying you ask it of the girls that worked in your kitchen?"

Red relented. Her eyes softened. "No," she stated. "No, they are my daughters. I watch out for them."

Gloria stepped forward again and Red fell back. "You're not one of my girls, though," Gloria said.

Red set her jaw and looked up at her. "You're in my kitchen. That makes you my responsibility."

"It's not your kitchen," Gloria snapped. "It's... ours."

"I don't share," Red warned again.

"I'm not asking you to share," Gloria said. "I'm just saying, you're not one of my girls anymore than I'm one of yours. Maybe Caputo's right. We work together."

Red leaned close, her lips inches away from Gloria's. "Take care of each other," she mused.

Gloria closed the gap between them. A bolt of electricity shot through her, lighting a fire in her that she hadn't felt for years. After so long without another person's touch, even the simple, chaste brush of another person's lips against her own made her weak at the knees. "Something like that."


End file.
